


Where There is No Guidance, a Nation Falls

by AnxietyAvocado



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Cults, Government Agencies, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27843133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxietyAvocado/pseuds/AnxietyAvocado
Summary: Two separate lives are brought together in a fiery mess, as Mossad agent Viktor Nikiforov - still struggling to prove himself worthy of his father's national history - and Public Security Intelligence Agent Yuuri Katsuki - determined to stand between his country and what threatens it - are brought together on a mission to keep their respective heads of state safe from a threat long thought extinguished. as they race through Tokyo, Shizuoka and Yamanashi prefectures, Tel Aviv and St. Petersburg trying to beat the clock and stop an old enemy from rising again.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	1. 1995

Tokyo

* * *

_ “Mari nee-chan! Wait for me!” _ Yuuri was angry. His sister was going out with their obaasan while he had to stay home with okaasan. He was still sniffling after being sick earlier in the month, and after he had tried to pull his mask off of his face on the subway yesterday okaasan said he had to stay at obaasan’s house if he couldn’t be a big boy and wear his mask. 

Mari, in her 11 year old wisdom, waited patiently for Yuuri in the living room, shoes in hand. She loved her little brother, but was excited to go do something without him. She wanted nothing more than to rush out the door to hurry up and go to the shops, but she knew it would make Yuuri cry. 

_ “You have to stay here,”  _ she admonished. “ _ But if you’re good, I’ll bring you back a present, okay? And I promise to get you a good luck charm for your skating lesson next week.” _

He bounced on the balls of his feet at the thought - he was finally going to start skating with Yuu-chan and Nishigori! Minako-sensei had said he was old enough, and he was nervous about it - but knowing that Mari believed in him and would buy him a good luck charm made the anxious feeling in his stomach settle a little. 

With a huff, he sat down on the wooden floor near the entryway.  _ “Fine. But next time I’m going to go with you! Okaasan says I have to take a nap now anyway.”  _

Mari kissed the top of his head as she bent down to slip her shoes on before rushing down the hallway of the apartment building. The last thing Yuuri heard was her shouting at him to go back inside as he tried to yell at her to bring him home a dog plushie. 

* * *

Israel

* * *

“Vitya! Zakhodi v dom!”

The blond boy ignored his mother, preferring to stay in the shade of his favorite tree - the park near their house wasn’t large, but he could sit and play with his RC helicopter all he wanted while his mother could check on him from the kitchen window. 

“Vitya! עכשיו, לפני שאגיד לאביך!”

_ Oh _ . He was in trouble - it always took something bad happening for his mother to yell at him in Hebrew, rather than in Russian or even English. That was the language of her parents, something that she had passed on to him, however reluctantly he learned. He picked up the helicopter from where he had crash landed and brought it inside, trying to avoid looking at his mother as he walked in the door and put the toy in his room. His mother was sitting in the kitchen, a mug grasped tightly in her hands as she listened to the radio. He couldn’t hear what it was saying clearly, but his mother’s eyes looked tight and angry - maybe she hadn’t found out that Viktor had broken the doorknob to his bedroom? (He had been trying to learn how to pick a lock, in his defense)

Padding into the kitchen, he sat down at the table next to her and rest his arms on the table, his head propped up on his hands.  _ “Mama,” _ he asked in quiet Russian.  _ “Am I in trouble? What’s wrong? I’m sorry I-” _

She cut him off before he could rat himself out. 

_ “You need to stay inside today,”  _ she said quickly.  _ “The Prime Minister has been shot by a Jewish college boy. I do not want you outside, where those Azoulais can yell at you.”  _

The Azoulais? Why would they yell at him? He wasn’t the one who shot the Prime Minister. Looking up at her, Viktor opened his mouth to question her, but she shook her head. 

_ “They are small minded, angry people who do not like that we moved to their building. They do not trust us, and I will not give them an excuse to make things hard for you.” _

Viktor nodded, not really understanding, but still happy that his mother was doing her best to keep him safe from the angry neighbors who spat curses their direction and made a sign to ward off evil as they walked by (which he thought was stupid, but he didn’t mention it). 

As they sat listening to the radio, Viktor decided that he would do something about the neighbors who didn’t trust him or his mother. He was too Russian looking for them, too foreign as he walked down the hallway speaking Russian with her. It didn’t matter that many people spoke Russian - Hebrew was still the official language and anything else was frowned upon by some of their old fashioned neighbors. One day, he promised himself, he would make his country proud - he was born in Tel Aviv and would make sure that people never forgot what country he came from, no matter where his mother came from or what language they spoke together. He would make sure that no one forgot that his father was from here, and that he would do right by them all. 

* * *

Tokyo

* * *

When they were finally allowed to see Mari and obaasan, and collect their belongings, Yuuri was left with a neighbor. He didn’t know why he couldn’t go with them to pick her up - wasn’t she just at the train station? When he had asked his mother why he couldn’t go with her, she teared up and asked him to be a big boy and to stay with the Yamamotos. He couldn’t go with them and needed to stay in the building. 

It took  _ hours _ , and Yuuri spent that time staring out the window, listening as sirens - there were always sirens going off in a big city, but were there more today? - sounded off in the distance. The Yamamotos didn’t have a television, and their children were all grown up, so there wasn’t much for Yuuri to do. 

After what seemed like forever, his parents came home, a paper bag clutched in his mother’s hand. 

_ “Where’s obaasan? And Mari?” _

His mother coughed, but it sounded funny, like she was trying to stop herself from making noises. His father looked at Yuuri with sad eyes and took him into the other room, where his mother and grandfather were sitting at the table talking quietly. He didn’t hear anything that his father said to him, the noise feeling like it was water rushing past his ears when a wave knocked him over in the ocean. 

Two weeks later, when they stood in the public space of the onsen after the funeral, Yuuri stared at the floor angrily, a red and yellow good luck charm clenched in his fist. He understood that bad people had done something, and that his sister and grandmother had been taken away from them, even if he didn’t understand why it had to happen. He also understood that he was going to work hard and make sure that nothing like that happened again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the events of this chapter are based off of real events, such as the sarin gas attack in tokyo in 1995, and the assassination of israeli prime minister at a peace rally by a jewish college student
> 
> any and all mistakes are my own and a result of my research, however incomplete it may be. i am more than happy to take any suggestions as to correcting any errors or misconceptions, and am more than happy to take those PRIVATELY on twitter @weirdlyworded


	2. 2005

Tel Aviv, Camp Rabin

* * *

Viktor liked the military. He enjoyed the structure of it all, knowing who to turn to with what problem or what information, and it was easy to stay out of trouble - do as you’re asked, meet (but don’t exceed) the requirements given to you, and go about your day doing your job. 

He _might_ have had a problem with the “meet, but don’t exceed” part. An American he had met once for joint training said _If you’re the best one at digging ditches, they’ll just give you a bigger shovel and a longer piece of land_. Viktor didn’t mind the “bigger shovel” part though. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. There was little point in not doing his best work. 

That was how he had ended up in the administrative hallway of Camp Rabin, summoned to meet with a personnel officer. 

There was nothing to be nervous about - he was reaching the end of his compulsory service, and it was time for him to make a decision. His parents had been supportive of him, almost to the point that they didn’t give him any indication of what they wanted him to do, only saying that they would love and support him no matter his choices in his career or personal life. 

Well, they would if he _had_ a personal life. 

Since joining the military, Viktor had been focused on his career. At first that had been because he hadn’t wanted to think about such things - he’d had his flings before, and had no problem serving in the military as a gay man so it wasn’t as though he were in the closet - because his career path had been more important. Later on it was due more to the lack of opportunities. After all, when your coworkers as you to spend time on the weekends and you keep saying no, they eventually stop asking. Making a path for himself that would make his parents and his country proud was the most important thing, in his mind. Love and life and free time could come later, once he had established what he wanted to do… if only he knew what that was. 

His musings were interrupted by the office door swinging open, a secretary in a nondescript uniform holding it open for him as she indicated that Officer David was ready for him. 

Sitting across the desk from the woman in a pressed uniform, Viktor took in the surroundings. It was a nice office, if not a little impersonal. The nameplate on the desk read _Officer Z. David_ , and the only other indications that the office had been occupied for more than a few hours were a stack of paperwork in a corner, and a picture of the officer with an older man - probably her father. 

“Nikiforov,” she said slowly. “Russian?”

He nodded. “Yes. I took my mother’s last name. She came here with her family in the 70s.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “It says here that you haven’t chosen whether to continue on with permanent service, or accept a discharge. Your compulsory service period ends in just a few months.” The woman looked up at him, and Viktor noticed a small Star of David necklace peeking out from her uniform shirt. 

“What would you like to do?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it. Viktor knew that this would be one of the last choices he would make for himself if he stayed in the military - to continue on and put in his preferences for service meant that he would be shuffled around and sent where he was needed, a surprise around every corner with each new assignment. That appealed to him. But he also knew that he missed his parents, and wouldn’t mind going home to his family. But really, what was he good at? He had danced as a child, played sports, and did well in school although he was no genius. He was multilingual which was a plus, but so many people in Tel Aviv were. 

Carefully, he said, “I would like to serve where I can do so best. The structure that serving in the military brings is a welcome one, and I would like to stay for a while longer. But I don’t know that I could name a unit or division I would like to serve with - that would be egotistical of me to think that I know better than my superiors.”

His answer seemed to please the woman, and she smiled slightly before looking down at a file on her desk. 

“It says here that you have scored well in firearms training, as well as intelligence and language tests. I will let my superior officer know that you wish to continue on with long term service, and someone will be in contact with you about your next unit. In the meantime, you do have some leave accrued - maybe it would be best to take a break?”

He thought about it - the idea of going home was tempting, even if he wouldn’t have any news for his parents. Or he could take a vacation, though he didn’t know where he might go. 

“I’ll consider it, thank you,” he said politely, clearly waiting for a dismissal. 

The woman sent him off with a wave before turning to her computer. She opened an email and began to type. 

_Eli,_

_Nikiforov has chosen to stay with the military - attached are the digital copies of his file as well as his service preferences and testing scores. I would also recommend that you share this information as you see fit with Isaac in your building, and Mr. Vaknin if you think it appropriate. I believe this is someone to keep an eye on._

_See you Saturday for lunch._

* * *

Japan, Saga Prefecture

* * *

“Yuuri-kun, please come in!”

The soft, familiar voice of his teacher melted away some of Yuuri’s anxiety about the meeting. Logically, he knew he wasn’t in trouble - everyone was meeting with their teacher in these last weeks before high school entrance exams and extra cram school sessions. That didn’t stop him from worrying about things like his grades, or if he was able to graduate (never mind the fact that he earned high marks in all of his classes). 

At fifteen, Yuuri knew that he had to start making decisions about his life, but still felt unprepared for the future. After what had happened to Mari, he had stuck close to home, working with his parents in the onsen, studying hard to make them proud of him, occasionally skating with Yuuko and Nishigori, though he never did end up going past that first lesson. It had been too hard, after what happened in Tokyo. Still, as he sat in the desk across from his teacher, he clutched a crumpled good luck charm in his hands, trying to keep them from shaking as he remembered that this was an opportunity his sister had never gotten and that he wouldn’t waste it. 

His teacher had been going on about his scores, his classes and club activities (there were very few) as well as his sports participation (almost none) before he snapped back to reality, paying closer attention to her words. 

“...a good opportunity here. There are several local high schools that you can test for, but with your scores I believe that you could gain entrance into any number of prestigious schools.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t think I can leave Hasetsu, ma’am.”

Setting the paperwork down, she looked at him closely. Yuuri had known her for three years, and she had seen him break down more than a few times. She knew most of his history - Hasetsu was a small town, almost everyone did - and knew what it meant that he wanted to stay with his parents. 

“Yuuri-kun,” she said softly. “You should be able to go out and experience the world, and find all that it has to offer. Hasetsu will always be your home, but just because Mari cannot leave here doesn’t mean you should stay as well. Have you ever thought of doing it for her, living for her, walking where she could not, breathing the air of new places she can’t see? You should use this as an opportunity to fly, not clip your own wings.”

He swallowed hard. For years, he had done everything that he could knowing that his parents needed him. He worked hard, took over Mari’s chores as soon as he could before adding his own, pushing himself to stay on top of everything while making things easier for his grieving parents. Yuu-chan said it was too much, that he was too young to do that, but he disagreed. It was the right thing, the best way to make sure that his parents knew what they had gone through wasn’t for nothing. 

And yet… to go out into the world, to see new things and experience new places. That was tempting, despite the swoop of fear and anticipation in his stomach. Would they understand if he left? Would they still love him? Would everything be alright?

“I’ll… I’ll take the tests. But there’s no point in deciding until I know if I’ve passed them or not,” he said firmly. “Then I can talk to my parents about it.”

\---

  
When he tested into Waseda, there was no question about it - Yuuri knew that he had to make changes. He couldn’t stay in Hasetsu his whole life, taking over the onsen from his parents. He needed to go out there and _do_ something. He had buried the feeling after coming home from Tokyo, but he couldn’t do that anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i just throw a fictional adaptation of ziva david at you? heck yes i did. 
> 
> also, waseda is located in the same city that hasetsu is based on, so while yuuri is prepared to travel to get the education he needs to make a difference, he doesn't end up going far at all! but he will live in the dorms since it'll help him focus


	3. 2014, March

* * *

Tokyo, Shibuya Ward

* * *

The Special Research Office had been vague when they had requested that Yuuri take their intern out with him on “assignment”. Technically, he was on loan from Section One of the First Intelligence Office, but with a lull in chatter regarding domestic issues he was free from his regular responsibilities and floated around as needed, relieving those who needed time off. 

Yuuri had dressed casually, in dark jeans and t-shirt and blazer as he walked alongside his counterpart who was decidedly less “low key” and stood out with a vibrant shock of red in his otherwise blond hair. Minami was an intern who was new to the office, and who insisted on calling him Yuuri-kun instead of Katsuki, and practically begged Yuuri to call him Kenjirou-kun or even Kenji. Yuuri had stubbornly stuck to calling him Minami, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism around the younger man. Technically they were out looking for literature that had been said to have been passed out by Aleph recently, but there were no signs of posters, fliers, pamphlets, or anything else easy to spot among the crowds of the shopping district. 

As they wandered through the crowds, it was easy to tune out Minami’s chatter. The boy went on almost endlessly about everything from displays in shop windows, to how he had started his internship, to his goals once he was able to join the agency, what his mother had made the last time he had been home, what his little sister was doing in school-

“Minami,” Yuuri said quickly, trying not to sound sharp. Something felt _off_. There was no real reason for him to feel that way, Yuuri knew. They were standing in the middle of a courtyard between shops as people streamed around them, a few of them bold enough to huff or cough in displeasure at the pair. Nudging the younger man with his shoulder, they entered a nearby coffee shop to get out of the way - Yuuri ordering two teas before taking seats at the window. 

Beside him, Minami asked, “Yuuri-kun, what is it?”

“Nothing yet,” he murmured. “Maybe nothing at all? Sorry, it just felt like someone was watching and I wanted to get you out of there.”

He was probably being overly cautious. After all, Minami was just an intern with no service weapon, and no training. He was responsible for the blond and needed to keep him safe. As soon as their teas were done, they walked quickly back to their offices, Yuuri declining to share the story with his supervisors. His anxiety worked against him sometimes, setting him on edge when there was no reason, and he wasn’t sure if this was it or if there was something else. 

  
  


* * *

Tokyo, Public Security Intelligence Agency & Prime Minister’s Office

* * *

  
Twenty minutes away, Kanako was standing in a meeting room in the Prime Minister’s building, staring at maps and motorcade routes, a stack of notes from one of the intelligence offices in her hand. 

“Kobayashi,” she called out. “Call Ito and ask him to send Katsuki over. We’ll be needing him, as well as Hada from Special Research.”

\---

Yuuri wasn’t one to question his superiors. He waited for directions, executed them to the best of his ability, and continued with his job. If there was something he needed to know, they would tell him. And right now, walking the distance between his office and the Prime Minister’s building, he didn’t need to know anything other than he was being asked for by Kanako-sensei and that was that. 

As the apparent representative of domestic security in this meeting, along with Hada from the Aleph unit, it was clear that something was going on. He watched Kanako-sensei with curiosity tempered by respect for his superior, not willing to voice his confusion just yet. 

“Gentlemen,” she said, greeting the group in the room. “In two months, we will be hosting a visit from Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu as well as several individuals from his government. We are currently in the final stages of planning and staging, and assessing any security threats that may present themselves during that time in May. 

Katsuki, do you have an update from Section One?”

Yuuri cleared his throat. “Within the last several weeks, there has been little chatter in the way of immediate threats or direction action taken on Japanese soil. That in itself may be concerning, meaning that groups and individuals have found new methods of communication, or they have fallen silent due to several reasons including changes to leadership, absorption of other groups, preoccupation with international activities, or other means.” He took a deep breath. “All in all, there is nothing concrete, which may be its own problem.” With a short bow, he stepped back to give his colleague the room. 

Hada looked grim. “Five years ago, the group named Aum Shinrikyo renamed itself Aleph, and the two sons of the former leader stepped up as the new gurus leading its remaining followers. Following that action, as well as a public rebranding of their doctrines, there has been little activity until earlier in this year.

It seems that the sons of Asahara have been growing more vocal and disgruntled with the leadership that remained from their fathers era. More to the point, they have been pushing for recruitment as well as public displays of loyalty. Because of that, there have been several upticks in communication on social media. 

These new gurus are apparently pushing an agenda that meets the minimal qualifications for a terrorist group. With that in mind, there have been several key phrases passed around in digital communications that have led us to believe that there may be a coordinated attack or schedule of attacks during the Prime Minister’s visit due to the highly visible nature of the visit.”

The thought of Aleph carrying out another devastating attack toward the city he now considered his home burned Yuuri. He could only imagine what it would look like in this modern era, as opposed to the nineties. This was exactly what he had told himself he would fight against when he was a child. Images of his parents faces, his grandfather’s face in the aftermath were burned into his memory, as well as the quiet sound of his mother crying in the dead of night as she wept for her oldest child. 

Mari had spent the first eleven years of her life protecting him. Now, it was Yuuri’s turn to work to protect someone else’s sister. As the group sat down around the table and began pulling out devices and papers, he focused on the meeting with everything he had, determined to keep these terrorists at bay no matter the cost. 

* * *

Tel Aviv, Mossad Headquarters

* * *

For the last five years, Viktor had worked hard to maintain his place in Mossad. The Institute, as it was occasionally called, wasn’t exactly cutthroat, but it certainly wasn’t forgiving either. Viktor had conditioned himself to work his very best at all times, to learn to anticipate and ask questions, and be proactive when possible. It left him with a nature that some called suspicious and others called disturbing prescient. Because of that, he knew that something was coming - his supervisors were suddenly in more meetings, some of the more senior agents had been called back to the offices from their field assignments, and more than once Viktor had seen people stop their conversations when newer agents such as himself were walking down the hallways. 

Yes, something was going on. It didn’t take someone who worked in intelligence to know that things were about to happen, but Viktor’s experience in the Research Division certainly helped with that. 

The first three years of his career had been spent largely in a room full of cubicles as he worked through pile after pile of potential intelligence, parsing out what was important and what wasn’t, determining what threats needed to be assessed and which information needed to be passed on to his supervisor. It was rare that anything they came across merited the attention of the Director - any real threats were usually dealt with by the Collections Department of the agency. Of course, once in a while someone stumbled across a gem, and Viktor tried his best not to be jealous when the person who stumbled wasn’t him. 

He felt a burning need to earn his place here, earn the respect of his countrymen and prove that he truly had Israel’s best interests at heart. It was hard to forget the angry, older neighbors who spat at him and his mother, still muttering about the aliyah of the seventies. His own mother had been a child then, and had no say in the matter, and Viktor deeply felt how unfair it all was, that they were being punished for something their elders had done. But wasn’t that always the way with family and its problems? Or even religion? He had stopped being a practicing religious person when he entered the military, not finding time for the artifacts and services of his faith while he was doing drills or attending trainings, but even Viktor knew that if there was something that was common to all men, to all religions and peoples, it was that it was so easy to blame the young for the actions of the old. He had faced a childhood of anger and spite for a “sin” that he hadn’t committed - that wasn’t even a sin at all. But instead of letting that drag him down, he turned it into fuel. Viktor let it power him through school, earning top marks by the time he graduated, power him through his compulsory and then voluntary military service, earning a degree during the same time, swearing to his parents that he would bring their family pride and promising his grandparents (while they had been alive) that he would show them that they had made the right choice to move their family from what they had always known to a place where everything was uncertain. 

Viktor had a feeling that he was about to get a chance to prove his worth. He only hoped it was something that would put his name in the shadowy history books of his employer. 

* * *

Jerusalem, Prime Minister’s Office

* * *

It wasn’t unusual for one of the Department supervisors to have a meeting at the Prime Minister’s Office in Jerusalem - after all, they answered to him directly and worked mostly outside of the law. When Viktor had been ordered to make the hour drive to accompany his recently appointed supervisor as well as the Department Chair for Political Action and Liaisons - his new assignment - for once, he hadn’t asked questions, and had only thrown his go-bag in his car, and drove. 

The group had been ushered through layers of security into the Prime Minister’s office, where they met with the man himself as well as several of his advisors and security personnel. Viktor stood in the corner with his supervisor, a gruff man named Yakov Feltsman who had immigrated to Israel around the same time as his parents. 

“Netanyahu will be traveling to Japan soon,” the older man murmured to him. “These plans have been set for months, but there have been recent developments. A terrorist group based near Mount Fuji has been pushing and attempting to radicalize more citizens, and encouraging them to prove themselves. These visits are always done with media around, so it is the perfect opportunity for problems.”

Viktor nodded. It made sense. He had spent more time in intelligence than counter-terrorism or espionage, but surely it wouldn’t be that hard to keep their Prime Minister safe, right? 

The men around the table gestured toward where Viktor and Feltsman were standing, and his supervisor made his excuses to join the table as they began to alter plans that had already taken months to create. Surely this was cutting it close?


	4. 2014, May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a transitional chapter, i know, but i promise the next one will be exploding with excitement

Tokyo

* * *

As the days passed, Yuuri spent more and more time at the office rather than in his small apartment. He knew the typical image of the Japanese businessman was one that overworked himself and fell asleep on the sidewalk was something that he appeared to be living, given the dark circles under his eyes and the concerned looks on the train as he went to and from work, but he was determined to work hard. 

A week ago, Kanako had approached him with his proposed part in the security detail for the visit. He would be posing as an aide in the PM’s office, someone with enough of an excuse to be in the room but far enough from the action that he could blend into the background and observe. She had warned him that he wouldn’t be cleared to carry a weapon, but that wasn’t a problem. Yuuri had excelled in hand-to-hand combat, and was more than capable of defending the Prime Minister or himself without a gun as needed. He would, however, need to undergo refresher training in undercover procedures and a crash course in Israeli politics and leadership.

This, he reflected, was one of the positive aspects of being just another government employee - a dime a dozen suit working in an office. Yuuri knew that he was plain and didn’t stand out, and used that to his advantage. His assignment would be easier for it, and he was determined to be thankful for that fact. By dressing like every other typical businessman and wearing his glasses he was more or less invisible, and that was to his advantage. If Nishigori was still right after all these years, Yuuri didn’t look as strong as he really was - first because he had been on the pudgy side, and then because he tried to hide in oversized sweatshirts and his glasses. But underneath the layers was someone who had trained in judo and, during one particularly intense summer, a beginner krav maga course during a joint training session with several agencies. It wasn’t a lot, and he wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to do some damage if he needed to. 

So he sat through procedural meetings, studied the Israeli Prime Minister and his office, took extra time in the gym his office used for judo practice, and watched several de-escalation training videos on his phone while on the train to and from work. It wasn’t as though he was planning on talking down a hostage negotiator or using a shoulder throw… but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. 

It was going to be a long month.

* * *

Tel Aviv

* * *

“I don’t understand why they’re sending anyone outside of the usual security detail,” Georgi complained, lounging back against the cushioned seat of the booth. “This isn’t even something we would deal with at Mo- at work. So why you?”

Viktor shrugged. Georgi, for all his dramatic and sometimes loudmouthed tendencies, wasn’t as stupid as he acted - he just liked avoiding responsibility. It wasn’t as though he minded - he rarely got to travel for his assignments, usually sticking close to base unless there was something that really warranted the bosses signing off on a travel check for him. It was an excuse to spend extra time at the range. And, seeing as he was new to the Political Action and Liaison Office, this was not an assignment he wanted to take lightly. It was his first official assignment with a country that they had diplomatic relations with and Viktor felt that burning need to prove that he deserved to be on this assignment. 

“Seeing as I haven’t had any vacation plans for the last few years, I don’t mind going,” he offered. “Besides, anyone from my office is there to observe and potentially glare down the other side into submission if we have to - you know how these things go. No one gets a shot off and all you do is glare at each other hoping the other one caves.”

He fell silent for a few moments, thinking about the possible events of the visit. He wouldn’t mind going to try some new restaurants, and though there wouldn’t be that much time off he was sure to find something interesting in Japan, right?

“I know that look,” Georgi said warningly. “That’s the ‘hold my vodka while I try something stupid’ look.”

Viktor chuckled. “No, it’s not. That look is entirely different and probably still gives your mother nightmares.

“Well, for good reason. You did destroy her garden last holiday.”

“Me? I am  _ offended _ that you would suggest such a thing. There’s not enough vodka in the world to make me that drunk - I’m Russian! Well, partly.”

Georgi heaved a much put upon sigh. “Viktor, as someone who has known you since grade school, I am formally calling bullshit. You tried to tackle me and plowed through her favorite flowers.”

“Lies. Lies and slander.”

Georgi’s watch beeped and he slid his finger across to silence the notification. “I need to go. There’s an office meeting that I need to attend and then I’m taking Anya out tonight - are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“No,” Viktor said with a smile. “I have a lot of work to do.”

His friend sighed, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something about Viktor and his work, but thought better of it. As much as he was grateful that one person in his life still tried to get him to be social, Viktor knew he really didn’t have time for that. There was a job and it needed doing, and he wasn’t going to be anything less than perfectly prepared. 


	5. 2014, May

Tokyo, Prime Minister’s Office - Conference Room 2

* * *

Viktor’s head hurt. It was pounding like small goblins with hobnailed boots were trampling over his brain, but he wasn’t hungover. Hell, he wasn’t even  _ drunk _ . 

He was lying on his back though, his view of the hazy sky disrupted by jagged metal, surrounding skyscrapers and… smoke.  _ What the fuck? Smoke? _

All at once, the world rushed in as Viktor sat up. His head felt stuffy as it pounded, and he realized it was because his ears were not quite ringing, but not quite plugged either. There was dust covering his suit and he felt more than heard himself groan as he pulled himself up, bracing his hands on his knees to stand. 

The room, what was left of it, was a mess. Wires were hanging from the ceiling, light fixtures dangling from the ends of several of them, and the smoke made him cough and retch - though the latter could be attributed to the smell of blood more than anything else.  _ The blood _ . It was everywhere, even in Viktor’s eyes as it dripped from a cut on his forehead. He reached for his weapon, pulling it from where it had been holstered under his arm and held it up, clicking the safety off as he scanned his surroundings. 

Neither Prime Minister was anywhere to be seen - that was a problem. Three bodies on the floor near him, all moving if not slowly. Feet sticking out from under a toppled table - not moving and probably dead. Move on. Someone leaned up against a wall, phone in hand and trying (probably pointlessly) to call for emergency services. If he had to take a guess, phone lines were either cut or were damaged in the blast - Viktor had seen that too many times from intelligence reports to assume otherwise. Staggering through the debris, he could hear sirens distantly as his ears began to clear up, screams and shouts sounding closer. What thet fuck had happened? Breathing deeply into the shoulder of his suit jacket (it was marginally better than breathing in just the smoky air) Viktor rounded a corner-

-and was flat on his back once again.

“Anata no buki o otosu!” 

He couldn’t see who shouted it, but Viktor didn’t care. He pushed himself up and steadied his grip on his gun again. 

“Drop the weapon!” English this time. Pivoting to his right, he saw a Japanese man in a suit only a few feet away, glaring at Viktor as if looks could kill. 

“Identify yourself!” he spat back in English. 

The man, whose glasses were sitting a little crookedly on his nose, took a deep breath. Wasn’t this smoke bothering him? “Drop your weapon and then we can talk. Emergency services are on their way, and you will be taken in if needed.”

“Identify yourself and then I’ll drop it,” he shouted.  _ Maybe _ . Viktor could already hear Feltsman in his brain, shouting at him for not having shot the man already - it was clear that there was a threat present and still possibly ongoing, was Viktor an idiot? It was like the man was in his head, berating him and wondering very loudly how he had survived his years in the IDF. In an effort to move some of the tension out of his shoulders and neck, Viktor adjusted his grip on his firearm, resulting in it being raised slightly from its position. 

The other man acted quickly, He charged toward Viktor, ducked low and to the side as he raised the weapon, now with an intent to shoot, but before he could the man’s head was buried against his chest as one arm pulled his supporting hand away and to the side, and the other arm jerked his arm straight out, the firearm slipping from his grip. From that position, the man shifted his weight and threw Viktor to the floor before flipping him over and shoving a knee in his back with one arm around his neck. 

Dazedly, Viktor saw an image flashed before his eyes - being flipped over on his stomach by this man but for  _ very  _ different reasons - before the knee pressed into his back further, the weight pushing him into the front of his ballistic vest. The man shifted until he was  _ straddling Viktor’s middle  _ \- a thought that he let go of as soon as he had - and the man used one hand to keep his hands secure while he attempted to search with the other.

“Don’t move,” he shouted. “If you resist I will act. Identify yourself!”

Viktor didn’t much like being on the receiving end of his own question, but this man was certainly formidable, and it didn’t seem like he had much choice for the moment. 

“Viktor Nikiforov,” he said as clearly as he could. “Mossad, Political Action and Liaison office. Now, who the  _ fuck are you?” _

The other man seemed to breathe out in relief. “Katsuki Yuuri. Public Security Intelligence Agency, First Office.”

Hearing that made Viktor feel marginally better about having his ass handed to him, and a lot better about not having shot the man - with whatever was happening they would need every man they could get, and if he had shot one of Japan’s intelligence community he would have been in deep shit. 

“Does the First Office teach you how to throw a man to the ground like that?” he asked cheekily. 

Katsuki - Yuuri, rather - stood up quickly and coughed before answering. “No, but judo class does. Does Mossad teach you how to clear a room? Because if they do, you need to go back to training.”

As Viktor stood, he scanned the room - empty - and turned to face the man, ignoring his jab. “Well, this has been lovely but I’m going to grab my firearm now and find out where the hell my Prime Minister is.”

“Follow me,” he motioned with a grim face. 

* * *

Tokyo, Public Security Intelligence Agency - Sub Level 4

* * *

The Israeli Prime Minister, as it turned out, had been injured in the blast and had been rushed through sublevels and corridors to the nearby PSIA building where he was being treated for scrapes, a broken wrist, and a piece of shrapnel embedded in his leg. 

Viktor, Yuuri, and several of the security staff were in the next room being briefed by Kanako on the incident. 

“Aleph chatter picked up this morning,” she said tersely. “LINE and TikTok in particular were active, with several young people claiming either to be affiliated with the group, or in agreement with them - not as much by name, which is how it was missed before, but several slips caused them to connect the dots. 

At 0600 an electrical issue had been reported in Conference Room 1, and the signing was moved to 2 - that wasn’t made public and the van driver with the bomb parked next to 1. An accomplice with what appears to be a grenade launcher also aimed for that room. The first suspect was pronounced dead by first responders on the scene - the second has been apprehended and will be interrogated shortly. 

Katsuki,” she barked, and Yuuri looked up instantly. “Hada didn’t survive the blast. I’m sorry, but that makes you the most senior agent who was assigned to the detail. You take point.”

She turned toward Viktor and the remaining Israelis. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I’m not as familiar with your assignments. It’s clear that there are several things that need to be taken care of. Please either report to your supervisor or arrange assignments.”

With that, she was off, and Viktor turned to Tzur and Kaplan, both from the Prime Minister’s office, and Vaknin from his own.

“Nikiforov,” Vaknin said wearily in Hebrew, “You should coordinate with the Japanese. I will stay with the Prime Minister, as well as Tzur. Take Kaplan with you.”

Viktor wanted to refuse - Vaknin had the seniority and the experience. But maybe it was that age that was causing him to step back? Whatever the case, he knew that he needed to be back at his best and anticipate what he would need to do. With a nod at Kaplan, they crossed the room to where Yuuri was standing with Kanako, talking in low tones and hurried Japanese. Viktor couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was clear. Yuuri was hesitant, probably not happy with being put in charge of this. He looked young - how long had he been doing this? Probably not long enough. 

“Gentlemen,” she addressed them. “I would like you to accompany Agent Katsuki to the local police station and observe the interrogation of the suspect. From there, we should have a better understanding of what we are dealing with and your goals at that time. Luckily, the trains haven’t closed - yet - so you’ll need to get there quickly and catch one of the last ones before that does happen. I don’t know if you’ve ever driven in Tokyo, but I don’t recommend starting today.”

* * *

Tokyo, Tameike-sannō Station

* * *

Viktor had an image of Japanese public transit as always being busy and crowded, but at least efficient. The sight that greeted him was correct on the first two counts, but certainly not the last. People crowded and surged toward the gates, trying to get away from the area. He walked closely to the Japanese agent. They hadn’t talked much since their original conversation which had entailed him getting his ass handed to him by the shorter agent, and he wasn’t really keen to try again and risk a repeat. 

As they approached the cubicle near the turnstiles, a crack sounded in the distance and Viktor felt something speed past his ear. The projectile - a bullet - embedded itself in the stucco of the building and Viktor shouted, “Shots fired! Get down!”

Yuuri shouted something in Japanese, probably the same thing Viktor had just said, and people scattered with screams. This, though, Viktor could do. He was prepared for this. Reaching out for Yuuri, he grabbed his shoulder and shoved him to the ground as he grabbed his firearm and clicked the safety off, scanning the crown for the gunman. It took several attempts, people running across his field of vision but he finally spotted who he believed the suspect was. A Japanese man in a black sweatshirt and with shaggy hair was stumbling through the crowd, heading directly for the agents.  _ Shit _ . 

As Viktor met his eyes, the man raised his gun and fired again, letting off several shots in rapid succession, pulling the trigger long after the magazine was empty and then pausing only for a moment to reload. He only had time to glance at the man’s face, features indistinguishable aside from wide, wild eyes. Not the easiest person to try and pinpoint in a crowd, he reflected grumpily - well, as grumpy as he could with bullets flying toward him. As bullets continued to fly, Viktor looked around for Kaplan - the man was pinned down behind an advertisement board and shouted that he was out of ammunition. Not that far behind him, Agent Katsuki was crouched in the cubicle, a radio handheld clutched in his grip as he spoke rapidly into it. What the fuck was he doing? Calling  _ the police?  _ What were they going to do about it? Three of the most competent individuals to handle this - okay maybe two - in the country were right here! 

Motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention and Viktor turned slightly to see Kaplan shouting at him, although it looked more like mouthing for all he could hear him. He shook his head at him, both in a  _ don’t do whatever you’re thinking  _ and  _ i have no idea what you were talking about  _ gesture. 

Moments later, Viktor saw the start of his colleague’s plan when he took advantage of the temporary pause in the one-man hail of bullets and started to make a run for- for where? Viktor couldn’t tell, and he wouldn’t find out, because no sooner had Kaplan cleared a second display stand did one of the bullets find its target and landed in his neck, bringing the man down as blood pooled quickly underneath him, stark against the concrete. 

It wasn’t the first time that Viktor had seen someone die, not even close. But it was the first time outside of a warzone, and he had trouble processing that for the moment, before he decided that there was no way to win this situation, most likely, and decided to make a break for it. As quickly as he could, he booked it across the space toward Katsuki, blindly shooting toward the suspect, who was now the only one standing in the area. He was sure that he missed more than actually hit, bullets digging into the wall behind the man. Given the fact that the bullets never stopped heading toward him, he seemed to have missed completely. Stooping to grab the agent by the arm, he pulled him further into the train station and into the train car that was waiting, doors closing only moments after they cleared the space. 

The train started moving and Viktor crouched on the floor, firearm in hand. The Japanese man was sprawled on the train car floor. 

“I’m pretty sure there are germs you don’t want to know about on that floor,” he said dryly. “Are you sure you want to lay there?”

Rolling over onto his back, Yuuri held up a hand and flipped the agent his middle finger. 

In the ridiculousness of the situation, Viktor couldn’t help but laugh - a short, harsh sound. 

“So, what the  _ fuck  _ is happening?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so yeah - trains wouldn't still be running at this point in an actual terrorist attack or national emergency. but it's my fic and you're all reading it, so it's happening. 
> 
> also, yuuri katsuki could crush a man with his thighs send tweet


End file.
